The House on Hope Street - By Danielle Steel Page 0,44

neurosurgeon came to see him. “We're getting there,” Bill Webster told him, and looked encouraged. Dr. Webster shared the latest data with him, and they told Liz that they weren't going to do surgery yet. And with luck, and some more progress, maybe they wouldn't have to. It was six o'clock by then, and she hadn't left Peter's side for an instant. “We'll keep an eye on him if you want to get a cup of coffee,” Webster offered, but she shook her head. She had no intention of leaving Peter until things had improved further, no matter how long it took. She hadn't eaten anything since that morning, but she couldn't have eaten at that point if she'd tried.

It was another hour before Peter made another sound, but this time when he did, he said “Mom” again, a little more clearly. “Hurts,” he finally added to it in a voice that was barely more than a croak, but he lifted his hand this time, and squeezed hers as much as he could. He was hardly stronger than a baby. They didn't want to give him anything for the pain and risk his slipping back into a coma. “Home,” he said finally, while the doctors watched him.

“You want to go home?” Bill Webster asked as Peter looked at him, and ever so slightly, Peter nodded. “Good. We want you to go home too, but you're going to have to talk to me some more before you go anywhere. How do you feel, Peter?” He spoke to his patient far more gently than he had to his patient's mother. But she was grateful now for what they were doing for him.

“Terrible,” Peter said in answer to his question. “Hurts.”

“What hurts the most?”

“Head.”

“Does your neck hurt?” He nodded again and then winced, it obviously pained him to move anything, and with good reason. “Does anything else hurt?”

“No … Mommy …”

“I'm here, baby. I'm not going anywhere.”

“Sorry …” he said, looking at her, and she shook her head. He had nothing to be sorry about at this point. “Stupid.”

“Yes. Very.” The doctor answered for her. “You're lucky you didn't wind up a quadriplegic from something like this.” And then he asked him to move his legs and arms, and hands and feet, and Peter did, but he could barely squeeze the doctor's fingers. But Webster and the neurosurgeon were pleased with his progress. And at nine o'clock they told Liz they were moving him to the Trauma ICU to continue to monitor him closely. “I think you can go home and get some rest. He's moving steadily in the right direction. You can come back in the morning.”

“Can I sleep here?”

“If you really want to. He should go to sleep eventually. We might even give him something to make him sleep, if he makes a little more progress. You can use the rest, you've had quite a day here.” In spite of himself, he felt sorry for her. As a rule, he tried not to get too involved with his patients, but Liz looked like she'd been through the wringer. “Do you have other kids at home?” he asked, and she nodded. “You might want to go back to them. They must be worried. He was in pretty bad shape when he came in. Did they see it happen?”

“I think so. I'll call and let them know he's better.” There had been nothing to say to reassure them until then.

“Why don't you go home for a while? I'll call you if anything happens.” Webster sounded firm.

“Will you be here?” She didn't like him, but she was beginning to trust him.

“All night and until noon tomorrow. I promise.” He smiled at her, and she was surprised to realize that he was actually decent-looking when he wasn't running roughshod over her, or scowling as he checked the monitors and the chart.

“I hate to leave him,” she said honestly.

“It'll do you good, and we'll be busy moving him in a little while. You'll just get in the way here.” He had a way with words, and she couldn't help smiling at him. And then she told Peter she'd be back soon, she was going home to the other children.

“I'll be back as fast as I can, I promise,” she said to Peter and he smiled.

“Sorry, Mom,” he said again. “Really stupid.”

“You're really lucky. And I love you. So just hurry up and get better.”

“Tell Jamie I'm okay,” he said with real effort, but also real progress.